


Dead Patient Special

by keire_ke



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-22
Updated: 2010-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 02:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keire_ke/pseuds/keire_ke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It stands to reason that medicine is not a good choice of profession for a person who gets a violent rash from standing too close to a needle, but of course Sanzo has to do everything the hard way. Written for the 7th Night Smut exchange. AU 39</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Patient Special

Title: Dead Patient Special 1/1  
Author: Keiran  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing(s): Sanzo/Goku  
Disclaimer: For free entertainment of the author and the reader. The author has no claim whatsoever to the recognizable characters.  
Summary: It stands to reason that medicine is not a good choice of profession for a person who gets a violent rash from standing too close to a needle, but of course Sanzo has to do everything the hard way.

Betaed by Rroselavy.  


* * *

"This should be exciting," Hakkai said.

Sanzo grunted something vague. He hated hospitals, a fact that Hakkai had never failed to ridicule throughout medical school.

"I bet."

Sanzo was beginning to suspect himself of masochism. He hated hospitals, yet he had voluntarily chosen to become a doctor, and then enlisted in a surgery program. Without doubt it was the best choice of profession for someone who got a violent rash from being too near to a needle.

All these thoughts flitted through his mind as he was changing into his scrubs before his very first day in the hospital. The MD tacked next to his name made a whole lot of difference in his attitude.

Sanzo stood in the locker room and looked around. Half the interns were busty females, more suited to appear in a bikini magazine rather than a hospital. There was Hakkai, of course, and across the room – Sanzo raised a brow – there was a very interesting piece of ass, which even blue scrubs bottoms couldn't hide. Above the waistline of the shapeless garment was a patch of golden skin, whose healthy glow didn't dim in the fluorescent light, taut enough for the person to qualify as a learning aid. The scrubs were hanging low enough to hint at underwear and reveal the sacrum and thoracolumbar fascia.

"Attention interns," said a woman's voice, drawing Sanzo's attention. The face he recognized as the chief of surgery stood in the door, surveying her newest acquisitions. Fucking hell, Sanzo thought, do they hire women based on their cup size? The chief had long, curly hair, swept up in a high bun, from which a few tendrils escaped to rest on her substantial breasts. "I'm going to read out your names now, and that of your residents. Report to him or her immediately, for your first shift."

"She seemed a lot more pleasant at orientation," Hakkai muttered to Sanzo once the chief of surgery started calling out names in groups of three. The locker room cleared and, at last… "Cho, Genjou, Kami." They exited the locker room, measuring one another with furtive glances. Sanzo had always known Hakkai would be his immediate competition, but this Kami fellow was news. He was his height and also blonde, though his hair was paler than Sanzo's. The skin around his right eye was a few shades darker, giving him the look of a permanent victim of a brawl. "You're with Dr Son," the chief said, giving them a bright grin.

"Where is he? Or she?" Hakkai volunteered. All the white coats who'd been standing behind Chief Bosatsu had gone, followed by their interns.

"Here. Sorry, I was late," said someone behind Sanzo's back.

Sanzo bit his tongue. This was a child, goddamn it, why did he have to get stuck with the newbie resident? Then the tone of the resident's skin filtered through his optical nerves and into brain. Fuck. It was the guy from across the room, who looked like he might have to convince the bartender he was in fact old enough to purchase alcohol.

"Hi," Dr Son said. "Right, my name is Goku Son, you might wanna remember that, 'cause I'm the guy that gets yelled at by the higher ups when you fuck up. I'm a fifth-year, in case you were wondering, so yes, I am older than you." He was looking at Sanzo. "I get that a lot, don't worry."

Son started walking, and the three of them hurried to keep up. "Basic rules of survival: your pager must always be on. There's no excuse. Second: sleep whenever you can, wherever you can that's convenient. Not in patients' room though, it don't look too good. There's the on-call room, there's the attic, there's the toilets if you're really desperate. If you are a heavy sleeper make sure you have someone to poke ya awake. No excuses for missing calls. You will be in charge of monitoring patients' health, prep them for surgery. Make sure they are not dead before a surgeon gets his hands on them. Any questions?"

"How are we supposed to keep people from dying?" Kami asked.

"You figure that out, you tell me." Son paused by the counter of the nurse's station and grabbed a clipboard. "Pagers," he indicated with a pen. Sanzo grabbed one and clipped it to his belt.

"Now what?"

"Now," Son said with a grin, "we are going to the ER, to see who stabbed themselves with a spork. And don't giggle," he added, holding up a finger when Kami let out a muffled laughing sound. "I've seen it happen. The guy will never play guitar again, let me tell you."

Despite Dr Son's stature (Sanzo could see over his head without much effort, if it wasn't for the messy mop of hair), he moved fast. The lot of them had to run to keep up with his gait.

 

The emergency room was chaotic, at best. At worst it was the Apocalypse, complete with rains of flaming sulfur. Sanzo stopped in his tracks. There were maybe ten people here, half of them bleeding, the other half puking their guts out, or looking like they were about to. He didn't know which way to look, so as not to be asked to help. All of sudden the four years of med school seemed like such a waste of time, when he was standing in an actual hospital with people who looked up to him for medical attention. Son was no help whatsoever. He pointed them each to a bed and turned to a little girl who was holding a bloodied pencil that stuck out of her shoulder.

Sanzo went where pointed, hoping to hell the guy had nothing wrong with him, and exchanged sour looks with his first patient, a middle-aged construction worker with a deep gash on his arm. "Get me a stitching kit," he barked at the nurse.

"And some pain killers," the man said.

"This isn't a restaurant."

"What kinda doctor are you?" the man demanded, glaring at Sanzo.

"The kind that's qualified to stitch your arm back."

"Here you go, doc." Sanzo turned. A guy in blue scrubs was grinning at him, in a way that implied he knew what he was doing better than Sanzo. Sanzo had the unexplained urge to punch the grin off his face.

"Are you the nurse?" he asked instead. He had the vague notion that blue was not the color of scrubs an ER nurse ought to be wearing; all the other nurses in the ER wore green.

"A nurse, yes," said the owner of a Gojyo Sha ID. "Not ER, but beggars can be choosers."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sanzo said, snatching the pack from his hands. "Don't you have sheets to change?"

"You must be new," Sha said, still grinning. What the fuck was it going to take to make this guy go away?

"What?"

"Hospital survival manual, look it up. Don't insult the nurses. We have more power than you think."

"Get lost," Sanzo muttered. He hated to admit someone had a point, but in this instance… He had made that mistake once. He didn't care to repeat it.

Instead of pursuing the argument he snapped the rubber gloves on and set to work. Stitching he could do. Sha took the hint and left, slapping Dr Son on the shoulder on his way out of the ER.

"Are you really new?" The fellow and his offending yellow hardhat looked nervous, but they would be out soon enough.

"I have a diploma, if that's what you are asking, and I am qualified to do simple stitching. How did it happen?"

"It was an accident. I slipped and a saw grazed my arm."

Stupid, Sanzo thought, connecting the tissue. Before the man left he got a shot of antibiotic and a glare, in place of the more traditional "take care with toolboxes."

"Stop glaring," Hakkai said from the next station, his hands full with a pregnant woman with a bloody gash on her forehead. "You'll scare the patients."

"They are bleeding, how much more scared can they be?"

*****

The first twenty-four hour shift wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Sanzo spent most of it stitching up victims of their own stupidity. Son had insisted they stay in the ER, even when a very interesting case rolled by them, intercepted by another team of interns. Sanzo was beginning to suspect their resident was a fraudulent MD, or worse, an Internist.

They couldn't have stayed down there forever – they were, after all, surgical residents. After six hours of mind-numbing stitchwork, when the sky turned grey, Son gave them a brief respite. "Go, have some carbs. You're all on call tonight, so be prepared."

The break lasted three quarters of an hour. Sanzo, at Hakkai's insistence, joined a larger group of interns, conversing over their supper. "Are we all on call tonight?" Hakkai asked.

"Nah, we're going," said a guy from the Dr Yaone's group. "Hey, didn't you get Son?"

"Yes," Sanzo said, stabbing into the food approximation the cafeteria served. "Why?"

"You know what I heard?" he guy leaned towards Sanzo with a leer on his face.

"Should I care?"

"Apparently he was sleeping with his teacher, who then got him the job," he guy said with a very disturbing leer. "His male professor."

Sanzo was caught between the desire to push the moron away for crowding him, decking him for being a homophobe, and leaning forward to learn some more. Fortunately, he was spared the dilemma. Kami set aside his tofu and furrowed his brows.

"He must be competent enough, else they wouldn't have given him interns."

"I'm just sharing juicy gossip," the first guy said with a shrug.

Great, so not only was Sanzo doing the job a nurse could do, he was stuck listening to a guy who got his medical diploma for sucking cock. Which opened a whole range in interesting possibilities, but none of them for Sanzo's illustrious medical career.

*****

"I take it filet mignon is more to your tastes than hospital cafeteria food," Koumyou said, watching Sanzo tuck into his meal with enthusiasm he rarely exhibited.

"If you can call that food," Sanzo said, taking a sip of the very fine Chianti. "I say they are trying to poison us all."

"Nonsense. They want their young doctors in prime condition."

"Considering what they feed us, I wouldn't be so sure."

"I'm certain they don't mean you harm."

"Why do we have such long shifts then? It's ridiculous."

Koumyou had to agree. Sanzo looked like he would lose consciousness the moment someone provided him with a flat surface.

"Did you enjoy your day, then?"

"Define enjoyed."

"Did it change your opinion of your chosen profession?" Koumyou clarified, leaning over his gazpacho.

Sanzo set his fork aside and watched his plate. He seemed to be considering the question. "No," he said at last, with the air of someone who'd just achieved a state of revelation. "I still want to be a surgeon."

"Splendid." The novelty of Sanzo having a clear idea of what he wanted from life, despite the long years of medical school, was staggering. Koumyou filed the moment away in his memory, next to Sanzo's first step and first whiskey. "I'll drink to that."

*****

The day following the revelation Sanzo found himself face to face with his first real patient, a thirty-nine year-old female, in for a mastectomy. Considering this was his first week, he'd be lucky if he was going to get anywhere near an OR, but one could hope. He spent most of the night drawing blood and running back and forth, occasionally pausing by the coffee machine whenever he spied Hakkai with his own armful of samples and notes.

Five a.m. rolled by and his patient was still alive. This was good news, considering the amounts of blood he'd pulled from her during the night.

"Patient is thirty-nine, diagnosed with breast cancer, scheduled for a mastectomy this afternoon," Sanzo droned during rounds, staring at the wall over Dr Son's shoulder. He hoped he was still awake. "The RBC count was low, patient was held overnight for observation. Morning results show borderline norm, there's no reason to delay the surgery." Sanzo stifled a yawn and went on. "Patient had already been through two lumpectomies and radiation. There is history of cancer in the family, patient's mother died of breast cancer three years ago."

The whole group, Dr Son in the front, was staring at him, their gazes somewhere between panic and relief. Panic, because it might have been them and relief for pretty much the same reason. Sanzo had the dubious honor of being the first of their trio to present a case.

"Hm," said the elderly oncologist. He turned to look at Dr Son. There was a question being asked, a whole conversation in fact, and Sanzo hated the fact that he wasn't privy to it.

"Can I have the chart back?" Dr Son held out his hand to Sanzo. "I think this is all. A doctor will be back in a minute to take you through pre-op," he told the patient. Sanzo followed the group outside. The smug little bitch, he thought gnashing his teeth. He was at the very least qualified to do pre-op, he knew that fucking much.

"What the!" Sanzo exclaimed when a hand on his elbow stopped him in his tracks. He whirled in place and found himself face to face with Dr Son's wide, childish eyes.

"What's her name?"

"What?"

"You patient. The one we just saw, scheduled for a mastectomy. Splendid job, by the way, with managing the labs and all, but what is her name?"

Sanzo drew a blank. Her RBC count of last evening and this morning he could recite, but the name was inconsequential when it came to surgery. "Ichire," he dredged finally from the depths of his memory.

"First name."

"How should I know?"

Dr Son sighed. "I know surgery is a very exhausting field. Cutting people open, that comes with a degree of detachment, otherwise we'd go crazy," he said. "But what's the point if you can't be bothered to notice this is a human being you're trying to help? And that's what you're supposed to be doing, please remember."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Tone, Dr Genjou." The damned _kid_ had the gall to grin at him. "After the rounds, you will prep Mrs _Seira_ Ichire for surgery, but you're not scrubbing in."

Sanzo bit back a growl. This was only his first week, he reminded himself. He'd see his fair share of surgeries yet. All the same, it was good to know his good-for-nothing resident was a useless dick.

*****

Sanzo started relying on his cell phone to tell him what day it was, since his internal clock was screwed to high heaven with the hectic schedule of first-year residency. He knew he was in trouble when he started considering borrowing an IV from the supply cabinet and hooking it into his arm with a steady caffeine drip. Five a.m. had become his new best friend, when Hakkai, too, was dying of exhaustion. Bizarrely, Hakkai combated it with hanging around the annoying not-an-ER-nurse Sha. Sanzo could have lived without ever seeing that mug again, but Hakkai seemed happy enough, so he refrained from throwing punches.

"He's a nurse," he told Hakkai when they headed home. The day had been long and full of excitement, which Sanzo would have rather avoided. Walking in on Hakkai and the nurse having sex in the on-call room wasn't exactly a highlight.

"He's also cheerful and laid-back, which is a welcome change after spending all my days talking to you."

Try as he might, Sanzo had no rebuttal. "Yeah, but he's a nurse."

"Strangely enough, that is an advantage. He's had training in being approachable."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"How many surgeries were you kept out of because Dr Son said you are not showing enough interest in the well-being of your patients?"

"What does he want me to do, climb between their sheets?"

"No, that's what you want to do to him. He wants you to act like they are human and their lives matter."

"I memorize their names."

"Try maybe using them from time to time."

"What's the point of getting friendly-- wait." Sanzo reviewed the conversation and glared at Hakkai. "What was that about me you said?"

"Which part?"

"The part relating to Son."

"Oh, that." Hakkai gave him a measuring look. "Is this going to be like the time in high school? When I say you like someone, you deny in a loud and definite manner and then show up at my door three days later in a middle of a storm to admit I was right and asking what should you do? Because it was cute when you were sixteen, now it would be sad."

"Fuck you," Sanzo said. He wasn't that stupid anymore. He could appreciate the view and maybe fantasize a little (there were enough nooks and crannies in the hospital for a quick fuck to go unnoticed, and the thought of bending the good doctor over an abandoned gurney was an attractive one), but the word like was a step too far. "I do not _like_ him."

"I do believe 'bullshit' is the term."

"He's hot, sue me."

"He is," Hakkai agreed. "Just so that there is no misunderstanding here – I have no intention of discouraging your infatuation. On the contrary, I would like to draw your attention to the fact that he is also smart and quick-witted. Both are qualities I know you appreciate."

"He got the job because he fucked his med school professor."

"Assuming for a second that it is true, is that supposed to prove something, other than the fact that he would be open to the idea of a relationship with his subordinate?"

"Why is he even teaching us?"

"Because, and I suspect you were too busy staring at his ass to notice, he is a very good surgeon."

"Where do you get that?"

"If you were any less rude to the heart transplant patient last week, you'd notice how Dr Nii let him do most of the procedure."

Sanzo paused in his step. "Seriously?"

"However he got the job, he deserves it," Hakkai said finally. "On a side note, I acquired a bottle of Merlot I would hate to go to waste."

"As long as you have whiskey to wash it down with."

"Philistine."

"Sticks and stones, Hakkai."

*****

"Alright, we have a new and exciting day ahead of us," Dr Son had said, a short while after five a.m. He looked way to cheerful for the hour, and he was beaming at his three interns, to boot.

"Hace you ever seen him with a cup of coffee in hand?" Sanzo muttered to Hakkai. "Because I'm starting to suspect he's on drugs." Sanzo was on his second cup, forty-five minutes after rolling out of bed. God knew how many cups Hakkai had had, after spending the whole night in the hospital.

"I've seen him sleep on the gurneys." Hakkai was talking through a hand so Sanzo was forced to guess at the meaning of some words. "I'm pretty sure he spends a lot of time dozing, when no one is looking."

"Mr Banri is in dire need of a graft aorta replacement, and by a happy coincidence Dr Nii is needed to perform a congenital cardiac surgery," Dr Son said. "Dr Nii will be popping in to make sure I didn't forget everything I know about heart surgery since last Thursday, but for the most part it will be just me. Which means there is plenty of space at the party, so you are all invited. In the spirit of keeping me honest, you are welcome to ask me to explain every single move.

"Anything you need to have answered now? No? Fantastic. Off you go, then. Get yourselves sparkly clean and see you in the OR."

Strange how little time it took for the scrubbing procedure to become second nature. Sanzo lathered his hands up to the elbow with soap and scrubbed until his skin felt raw.

"The common procedure is to stop before we get to dermis." Hakkai rinsed and then turned to the door, Sanzo following suit. He leaned against it and walked into the OR, his hands dripping. A nurse was already waiting with a towel. Pity there was no way to be a surgeon without this nonsense, Sanzo thought when a nurse held up a surgical glove. He hated rubber gloves.

"Alright, we're all here. Are you ready, Mr Banri?" Dr Son, recognizable under the mask only because it didn't obscure his bright eyes, asked the patient.

"Do I need all these doctors?" The man was in his forties and, judging by the strain in Hakkai's disposition around him, a right dickhead.

"We are a teaching hospital, sir. They are here to observe the procedure and learn."

The man raised an eyebrow. "And here I was thinking being naked in public was as bad as it gets. Let's get this over with. Sooner I go under, the sooner I wake up."

"Wonderful. Dr Zakuro, if you please."

The anesthesiologist stepped up and in a matter of minutes Mr Banri's eyes fluttered closed. "Pulse is stable, patient's all yours, doctor."

"Thank you. Could I have a scalpel please?"

Sanzo found he couldn't tear his eyes away. The scalpel touched the patch of skin, visible in between the blue fabric, and dug into it. Sanzo heard violins when the layers of dermis split to reveal the pulsing red beneath.

Wait a fucking second, he thought. There really were violins playing. "Where's the music coming from?" Hakkai asked, as a nurse on Dr Son's right handed him a pair of glasses with extra lenses.

"The CD player," Dr Son said. "I hope you don't mind?"

Sanzo exchanged a look with Hakkai. How in the hell this guy got a license to practice was beyond him. "What is it, exactly?" Hakkai asked, to Sanzo's surprise. Obviously, his priorities were just a little different.

"Saw please." A scrub nurse placed a saw in the doctor's outstretched hand. "It's the overture to _La Forza Del Destino_."

There was the off-chance that the sound of the music was helping with the horrid sound of the breastbone being sawed through, but if that was the case Sanzo wasn't eager to find out what did it sound on its own. He extended his neck all the same, getting an eyeful of a beating heart.

It was bloody magnificent. Sanzo felt his own heart throb at the sight, in tune with the patient's. It is someone's actual fucking heart, he thought. He had held a human heart, of course, but it had been dead and many a layer of formalin away from beating. This was amazing.

"We are moving to cardiopulmonary bypass," Dr Son said and the lady in the background whined something loud and Italian. The clear tubes filled with the patient's blood, oxygenating them in the place of his hearts and lungs. "Scalpel please."

There might have been questions. Sanzo didn't pay attention. All he saw was the open chest cavity and fuck, he needed to be nicer to the sick people, if it got him permission to cut into their chests afterwards. Dr Son's hands, bloody all the way to the wrists, never stopped moving, handling the heart with precision Sanzo had no choice but to envy. This was a skill that went beyond plain dexterity.

Sanzo's mesmerized daze was broken when Dr Son said "Page Dr Nii," in a peculiar tone of voice. "Page him now, tell him it's an emergency." Sanzo came out of the daze to see Dr Son with his hand on the heart, as if he was checking the pulse in a cardiopulmonary resuscitation gone very wrong.

"Dr Son?"

"No talking," he said just as the monitors went screaming. "I have a problem."

No shit he did, Sanzo thought a second later. The heart strained but Dr Son kept it pumping. "Suction," he barked at the nurse. He hesitated – Sanzo saw the moment his hands stilled – but he was moving again soon enough, his fingers holding up the heart as the pulse went crazy, filling the OR with a frantic beep.

 _Beepbeepbeep_ and then a steady _beeeeeep_.

Dr Son straightened just as the door to the OR opened. "Hello there," said Dr Nii with a grand wave. "I see I'm late."

"Yes," Dr Son said, his voice tight.

"Can I look?" Dr Nii leaned over the open chest cavity without waiting for an answer. There was no point in waiting, in any case, he was the Dr Jianyi Nii. "Did something happen?"

"I suspect a stroke. He was prone to blood clotting. We gave him anti-clotting agents, but he just flatlined so fast."

"Not enough." Dr Nii straightened. "So, now that Mr Banri is dead at your hands, what is your plan?"

Sanzo opened his mouth and though he couldn't see the faces of other interns he knew their mouths were open too. Now this was a man who was kept out of many, many surgeries as an intern. It didn't matter that he was the cardiothoracic surgeon other cardiothoracic surgeons wanted to kill for setting the bar too high.

"I'll go inform the family," Dr Son replied, unfazed, staring into Dr Nii's eyes.

"Very good. One moment." Dr Nii turned towards the little group as the nurses busied themselves with covering Mr Banri's body. "Tricuspid artresia."

Sanzo blinked, but Kami was already rattling. "It's a congenital heart disease, absence of a tricuspid valve."

"Splendid. If you didn't manage to dirty yourself yet, you are welcome to join me in OR three, on Fontan procedure. The rest of you, you may follow Dr Son and see what people look like when their husband or father died while you held their beating heart." Out of the corner of his eye Sanzo saw Dr Son's back stiffen. He walked out of the OR, dropping the gloves into the bin by the door.

"Go on." Dr Nii waved his hands at Sanzo, Hakkai and the other two. "Shoo. Go learn."

Sanzo peeled his gloves off and followed. Dr Son was waiting for them, the bastard, by the door to the waiting room. Telling people their family members just died was no fun, unlike sticking metal tools in their chests. Sanzo would rather the doctor rushed on and got the informing done without their assistance. "Ready?" Dr Son asked and opened the door.

"Mrs Banri?" he said. A middle-aged woman rose from her chair, a young man at her elbow.

"So soon? But it should be hours."

"I'm sorry, Mrs Banri. We did everything we could, but your husband died on the operating table a few minutes ago."

Sanzo stood behind his resident, watching over the top of his head as the woman's face crumpled and her son wrapped his arms around her. "You said it was a common procedure," he said.

"It was an open heart surgery. There are risks. Your father was prone to blood clotting, we gave him drugs to counter it, but for a clot to travel to a brain it takes a second, nothing more. There was nothing we could do," Dr Son explained, calm and controlled, suddenly less of the childish goofball he usually was.

"Can I see him?"

"In a little while. A nurse will let you know."

Killing patients, Sanzo decided, sucked. It was hardly a discovery worthy of a mention in medical journals, but a discovery nonetheless. At least he got to see Dr Son wearing an expression other than a perky grin. Then again, that wasn't true. He had already seen a range of emotion on his round face: the warm smiles bestowed on the younger patients, the soft grins for the elderly, the intense focus of a surgeon staring at the pericardium. Still, the dejection and a glassy expression of indifference masking the hurt beneath, this was new and unwelcome.

"You okay?" Sanzo asked, giving himself and Hakkai a coronary attack. He was not kind, nor caring, nor interested in other people enough to do the small talk.

"I'm fine, thank you," Dr Son turned his back to Sanzo. "Would you mind? I think I made a mess of the ties," he said, indicating the knots of the surgical scrubs.

He had. Sanzo focused on the blue knot. It took a while to work out, especially when his knuckles were brushing the golden skin and brown hair sticking out from beneath the cap as he worked. He hoped Hakkai wasn't looking. When he was finished Dr Son turned to him with a brilliant smile.

"Thank you."

Sanzo nodded.

"I was heading down for a drink, you lot wanna join me? How's your shifts tonight?"

"I'm staying," Hakkai said, digging his fingers into Sanzo's elbow. "I wish to observe the Fontan procedure."

"What?" Sanzo hissed in his direction. It was his on-call night.

"It's not often I get the chance to help you out." Hakkai grinned, though the dark circles underneath his eyes said something different. Bless Hakkai's twisted black heart and matchmaker attitude.

"I owe you." Sanzo followed Dr Son into the locker room and then out of the hospital.

*****

Considering the amount of alcohol Sanzo would consume when given the slightest chance, he spent very little time in bars. He despised bars, actually. All the noise and miserable people pretending they were jolly, thus making themselves and their surrounding even more miserable.

It was exactly the kind of scene Dr Son would revel in, it was therefore no surprise that he made his way to a bar with ease, the hour being early. "Hi Houmei, how are you?"

The bartender smiled at him. "Hi Goku. You know how it is, one minute you've scrubbed the floor clean of vomit, the next it's sticky with beer. What can I get you?"

"Dead patient special. You?" he turned to Sanzo.

"Whiskey."

"Maker's Mark?" Houmei was holding up a bottle. "That's Goku's choice."

"Yeah." This was a small surprise. "You don't strike me as a whiskey drinker."

"Like I said." Dr Son raised the glass to no one in particular. "Dead patient special." He sipped his way through the glass in silence, toasting the dead guy.

"Dr Son?"

The doctor gave him a look over the glass. "We're in a bar. Call me Goku."

"Fine. This happens often?"

"What you're asking is how many patients have died on me." Phrased like that, it was only the slightest bit offensive. Nothing Sanzo could say in response to that. "That's cool. Fair question. Twenty-three. I'm not telling you how many of those I killed."

"I'm not asking."

"Good." Goku swirled the liquid in the glass, watching the lines trickle down the sides. "It never stops sucking. I mean, five years I've been doing this, and losing a patient still sucks. I have it on good authority it never changes."

"Won't you get in trouble? No way you're qualified to do valve replacements on your own, you're just a resident."

Goku sighed and rested his head against the bar. "Technically, I was supervised. That's what the record will show. And I did nothing wrong."

"You're sure of that?"

"They don't just give out privileges like that for being adorable, you know. Else you'd be out there removing tumors from frontal lobes the moment you set foot in the hospital."

Sanzo bristled. "What did you say?" He tried to glare, but the most it got him was a surprised look.

"What did I say?" Goku was blinking owlishly, his eyes so bright and yellow they seemed inhuman in the neon lights of the bar.

Of course, Sanzo wasn't rightly sure what to say to that. "I'm not adorable," he muttered finally, burying his nose in the whiskey glass.

Goku laughed. "No, I guess not," he said, but the way his gaze swept over Sanzo's body, toe to the tips of his golden hair, said something else. "Houmei, can I have another one?"

"Sure thing."

Goku nursed the glass for another hour, talking the smile into showing up on his face again. Sanzo was glad in a way, even though when the glass was empty Goku stood up, paid and excused himself. His shift had been hellish, he'd said, and the surgery was the rotten cherry atop a very bitter sundae.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Sanzo," he said, his palm molding to the shape of Sanzo's bony shoulder. He moved and the touch of his fingers burned tracks down Sanzo's arm.

Fuck, Sanzo thought, giving the inside of his glass a glare. Its bottom dared to glare back. "Refill please," he told the barmaid and resumed staring at the opposite wall.

"He must really like you," Houmei said, filling his glass with another shot. "He never brings people with him when he toasts the patients."

"Should I be flattered that I am good company for toasting the dead?"

"I don't know, you tell me." Houmei capped the bottle and set it aside.

Perhaps he was a little flattered, Sanzo thought taking a sip of the whiskey. Perhaps.

*****

"How did it go?" Komyou was waiting by the door with a glass of bourbon in hand when Sanzo stopped by the house early in October. He was starting to consider moving to the city, somewhere closer to Sanzo's apartment, to justify more frequent visits. It was a tough choice, however, when the stately villa just out of town came with its own butler who kept the wine cellar stocked with the finest selections. He loved Sanzo, of course, but the boy was an adult and could handle himself. Koumyou always resolved to merely nag for more shared meals.

"If I ever consider going into general surgery," Sanzo said storming through the door, "shoot me."

"Duly noted. What happened?"

"Metastatic intestinal cancer happened."

"Not to you, I hope."

"Very funny. I was the one who cut out a part of the intestinal tract."

"Bravo." Genuinely impressive, when the boy was only a couple of months into his internship.

"There's something intensely distasteful about the intestines," Sanzo said, shrugging out of his jacket. "Hakkai is delighted, of course."

"How are things going for Hakkai?"

"He's practically moved in with that nurse of his. Don't ask me why."

"My guess would be because the nurse of his has a fantastic sense of humor and a natural talent for making people comfortable. Plus, he seemed to be a dashing young man."

Sanzo rolled his eyes. "Only you, I swear."

"I daresay we should invite him over for Thanksgiving, along with Hakkai."

"Do what you want, I have to be at the hospital."

"The whole evening?" Koumyou's countenance fell.

"Afraid so."

"Well, nothing lost. We shall make up for it later."

"Thanks," Sanzo said, accepting a glass. "Goku says Thanksgiving inspires the idiocy, so there might be a few interesting surgeries."

"I am as always relieved that the people in charge of our well being have our best interest at heart," Koumyou said, though what his mind focused on was "Goku."

"We have to learn to be of practical use and human stupidity aids us."

"I see. And who is this Goku, whose opinion is of such importance to you?"

Sanzo gave him a long look, pointed as the head of a spear. "Dr Son. My resident."

"I see," Koumyou said. He did see. Most of all, he could see the spots of color rising on Sanzo's high cheekbones.

*****

"You were not kidding," Sanzo said when the paramedics rolled yet another victim of domestic stupidity into the ER.

"I rarely kid when it comes to human life," Goku said, laying a final stitch onto the arm of the little boy who'd tried carving the turkey and ended up carving his own arm instead. "Here you go, kid. If you go with nurse Sha over there, he'd give you ointment and wrap your arm."

"Thank you," said the mother, a petite, distraught woman. "Thank the doctor, Kon."

"Thank you, doctor," Kon repeated, gazing at Goku with adoration in his eyes. Here was a doctor in the making, Sanzo thought, as the kid and his scatter-brained mother trailed after Gojyo.

"Who's next?" Goku asked turning around and facing the door. Obliging the resident, the door opened wide, filling the room with the roar of an ambulance screeching to a stop. "That looks bad."

He had an unmatched talent for understatement. "We have a fifty-year old male, victim of a car crash," said a paramedic, one of her hands on the gurney the other high in the air, holding a bag connected to an IV in the man's arm. He twitched, so he must have still been conscious. Goku whipped up his stethoscope and pressed it against his collarbone, above the gushing mess his chest was, and then, for a second, Sanzo got a good enough look at the victim.

"No," he said, not noticing when the ER rolled to a grinding halt and all eyes turned to him. "Dad."

"Shit," Goku said, though whether he heard or he was summarizing the condition of the patient was up for debate.

"BP's dropping." The paramedic's hand was bloody up to the elbow. "I didn't know what to do, his chest is a mess, and…"

"Trauma room three, stat, and somebody page Dr Nii!"

Hakkai moved into Sanzo's way, but Sanzo brushed him aside. Inside the door, he came up against Goku, who wasn't so easily dissuaded. "Get out of my way," Sanzo growled.

"No."

"Get out!"

"No." Goku's eyes narrowed. "Let me do my job, Dr Genjou."

"You're fucking useless at your job! You had to fuck your teachers for it!" Some time later Sanzo would be grateful that the momentary flash of anger had the facial muscles set so tightly the only way he could speak was in a furious whisper.

Even at that, however, Goku flinched. "Whatever your feelings, you are under qualified at the moment. Leave, or I will call security."

"Dr Son!" someone exclaimed inside, probably the dark-haired paramedic with her hand on Koumyou's throat. Over Son's head Sanzo could see the blood bubbling on Koumyou's chest, in tune to what must have been a frantic heartbeat.

"Get out of my way!"

The next thing Sanzo knew was the coarse surface of the wall against the side of his face. Someone was holding his forearm almost parallel to his spine.

"You are wasting precious time," Son hissed in his ear. It must have been his fingers digging into Sanzo's wrist then, his weight holding Sanzo pinioned against the ugly wall. Sanzo breathed the disgusting paint and felt the fumes invade his brain, taking away his power to argue. "Dr Kami," Dr Son called over his shoulder. "Escort Dr Genjou out of the hospital, now. If you show up here in under twenty-four hours, I will have you suspended." He let go and Sanzo staggered away from the wall, straight into Kami. "Dr Cho, in here." Son gave Sanzo one last glare – as intent and focused as those awarded to particularly stubborn tumors – and followed Hakkai into trauma room three.

"We're going," Kami said, pulling Sanzo by the elbow. "Hurry up, I want to get back here soon."

Sanzo went.

*****

It was a quiet evening. The light pollution kept the stars from showing, but Sanzo stared at the sky all the same. The crescent moon mocked him, smiling from its perch high above the bench.

His phone beeped. _Stabilized. Going into surgery._ Sanzo stared at the screen for a few moments. Hakkai had found the time to send a text, though not enough to call, so he must have been going into the OR. Sanzo pocketed the phone and resumed his glaring contest with the moon.

The next thing he knew someone was shaking him awake. "What kind of a moron are you?" Dr Son asked, his hand tight on Sanzo's shoulder. "You're gonna freeze your stupid ass to death."

"Go to hell."

"You dad will be fine," Goku said, and Sanzo felt his heart pound at his ribs. "Shards of glass went through his ribcage into the thoracic cavity, but the damage was repairable. There was a minor tear in his heart, but x-rays show no more shards and he is stable. He will be fine. Dr Cho volunteered to look after him during the night."

Sanzo bowed his head. "Come on," Goku continued, pulling him by the arm. "I'll take you home."

It turned out he drove a motorbike. Sanzo paused when he saw the thing. It couldn't be safe, he reasoned when Goku handed him a helmet and straddled the seat. "I'm not carrying you."

Sanzo threw his leg over the seat and closed his eyes when they started moving. "Where am I going?" Goku asked after they stopped at the red lights a short distance from the ambulance drive.

Sanzo forced his mouth to open and eventually managed to produce his address.

"I sure as hell hope you've got the keys."

The drive was short, but the paralyzing fear of being on a motorbike lengthened the ride into an interstellar journey. Sanzo was off the bike before Goku killed the engine. He was opening the front door when Goku caught up, reached out and took the helmet off Sanzo's head.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Stupid question. Of course he was okay. The keys jiggled in his hand and fell, a fate Sanzo was spared by Goku's arm. "Damn." Somehow they got upstairs, where Goku grabbed the first bottle off the counter and forcibly poured a shot down Sanzo's throat. "Better?"

"Yes."

"Awesome. When's the last time you ate?"

Sanzo drew a blank. There'd been something in the cafeteria, but he made a point of avoiding cafeteria food.

"No wonder you're so thin." Goku set the helmet and all the keys on the counter and set about rummaging through the kitchen. He came up with a pack of vermicelli and chicken, which he cooked in barbecue sauce, garnished with parsley and set before Sanzo, along with another glass of bourbon. "You mind if I have some, too?"

"Do what you want." Sanzo picked at the food at first, but after the second mouthful decided he was hungry, to his great surprise. He went for seconds and returned with a bottle of wine Hakkai had managed not to empty during their last study session. He poured Goku a glass, hoping it would be enough of an apology.

"Thank you," Goku said. He'd polished his plate by now, licking a speck of sauce from his thumb. "It's three a.m., you should go to bed."

Sanzo snorted. "You are not my mother," he told the kitchen sink. The water swirled over the plates, washing away the remnants of the meal.

"Sanzo, please." Goku came closer, and Sanzo knew, though he still didn't turn around, that Goku wore the expression no on ever wanted to see on their surgeon – a clueless gaze, beseeching the universe for things to turn out okay. "Act adult for a second. Go to bed." Why should he? Sanzo wondered, gritting his teeth. "I'm gonna go now, see you tomorrow morning."

Sanzo gave the shiny helmet a look. It stared back, via own reflection. "You are a moron if you want to drive drunk."

"I'm hardly drunk."

"I'm gonna leave my bike downstairs, I'm not stupid. I'll swing by tomorrow, okay?"

Sanzo turned, his ass resting against the edge of the counter. The words "I don't want you to go," crawled up his throat and then were swallowed back as soon as they reached vocal cords. He gave Goku a look he hoped didn't convey the message.

The answering gaze was exactly as he'd imagined it, eyes wide-open and shining, full mouth parted. Goku stared and Sanzo stared at the wall, until finally Goku sighed.

"Kiss me," he said and Sanzo's head turned.

Goku had abandoned cluelessness for resolve. Sanzo didn't look away when he leaned forward and did as he was told. It must have been a first, he thought, when his body leaned into the kiss, that he'd done exactly as ordered without as much as a sarcastic comment in the depths of his mind. But then the stakes were different now.

Sanzo tasted whiskey and wine, and chicken, the strange mix Goku used to spice it up. His hands reached out for the lapels of Goku's shirt, pulling it up to reach the skin he'd found so alluring right from day one.

He pulled Goku against him, digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans. What he could tell through the fabric was that a/ Goku's gluteus maximus were congruent with gluteus medius and thoracolubar fascia he had seen on the first day and b/ he really wanted to know whether the rest of his skin was the same golden hue. He dug his fingers into the heavy jacket and then let them slip underneath.

Goku was warm. For a second Sanzo busied himself with counting, measuring his pulse to the tune of the clock above the door, but no fever; it was elevated, but not out of ordinary. Considering he had his tongue in Sanzo's mouth, the elevation was excused.

"Let's go to bed," Goku said, and Sanzo pushed the both of them through the door leading to his bedroom. The jacket Goku had been wearing was left on the kitchen floor.

Sanzo struggled with the removal of clothes. His hands wouldn't cooperate, not when they tried to remove shirts and undershirt and a wife-beater – what the fuck was the guy thinking, this wasn't the North Pole, and he wore nothing underneath his scrubs, Sanzo asked himself – and the pants. He succeeded, in a way. He got Goku's shirt halfway up his chest and the buttons of his jeans undone.

"Okay, stop," Goku told him grasping Sanzo's collar. "Pause. Relax. I'm not going anywhere."

Sanzo stilled and breathed, as Goku laid tiny kisses against his throat. He was calm when Goku stepped back and started wriggling out of his garments, calm enough to help. Soon he had Goku naked before him, and fuck yeah, he wished he'd known him in med school, because even though his own body might have been a great help when studying osteology, Dr Son was a walking musculature aide. Sanzo traced the trapezius and the major pectoralis, wondering how sick he must be if the stream of _everything he bloody knew_ about the muscles was turning him on.

"Undress," Goku said, settling himself on the bed. He lay back, propping himself on one elbow and pumping his cock with the other. Sanzo couldn't get out of his pants fast enough. He moved onto the bed, shaking the jeans off his leg as he nudged Goku's knees apart with his hips. "Do ya have any lube or something?"

Sanzo considered the question. He should know this. "Yeah."

"Get it."

It was hard to reach for the nightstand and remain on top of his resident simultaneously, Sanzo found. It helped that Dr Son was a whiny bitch and expected them to give Jesus a run for his money, so Sanzo had physical impossibilities down pat by the time the first month of his residency has rolled by. He gripped the bottle and hissed, because Goku braced his heels against the mattress and bucked up, his erection brushing Sanzo's.

"You having second thoughts?" Goku asked, pulling Sanzo down for a kiss.

"What?"

"If ya want to fuck me, you had better make sure I'm not gonna be walking funny tomorrow." Goku grinned and Sanzo knew he was going to spend eternity making up swearwords to describe just how annoying that grin was.

"You're a bossy bitch," he said, unscrewing the cap with one hand and squirting the gel into his palm.

"I see how's that a problem for you." Goku arched his back and somehow ended up straddling Sanzo's thighs, with Sanzo kneeling on the edge of the bed. He wasn't quite sure how the fuck was that possible without a pneumatic lift, which he had yet to find in his bed. He wasn't prepared to spend a long time dwelling on it, however, as Goku sighed, a breathless little hiccup, when Sanzo's fingers slid up his ass.

Goku's forearms cushioned his neck as they kissed and he moved against Sanzo, in a way that felt like a being tied to a vibrator set to lowest possible setting. There was friction between them, sweaty skin, fine hair, droplets of semen leaving glistening lines on their bodies.

"I'm ready," Goku muttered into Sanzo's neck. Sanzo reached for the gel again, coating his erection with it and pulling Goku closer, so that his pelvis was at a comfortable angle. He liked the way the skin stretched over Goku's hipbones, smoothing the angular bone and the transition from bone to rectus abdominis.

There was a fluttering breath against Sanzo's neck and a sigh of discomfort when Goku lowered himself all the way down. Sanzo opened his eyes to find Goku's scrunched up tight.

He was prepared, was Sanzo's first thought, and he said it was fine. Granted, he thought when Goku's whole body shuddered and he bit his lip in an effort to contain a moan, he was so fucking tight it was a wonder he wasn't screaming. Sanzo waited until Goku opened his eyes and looked at him, before letting his hips wiggle experimentally. Goku threw his head back and moaned. "Bring me off," he told the ceiling, then looked at Sanzo. "Slow."

Sanzo didn't take his eyes off Goku's as he started stroking his cock. They looked so bright in the hospital, either open in curiosity or narrowed in the focus of a man with a hand on another's heart, but always bright. Now, in the eerie light of the late night, they were dark, pupils dilated so wide they swallowed up the thin rim of still visible color.

Goku trembled when Sanzo tightened his fist and with his other hand urged his hips to move. His mouth parted and sought out Sanzo's.

They moved together, in a rhythm that toppled them over before long. Sanzo came to rest on his side, one of Goku's legs underneath his thigh. His hips thrust frantically, searching for the leverage lost in the fall, but his cock required little more attention. Sanzo groaned into the hollow in which Goku's clavicles met, and sped up the movement of his hand as his mind shortened out and endorphins filled his veins. He felt Goku come soon after, becoming a boneless weight against Sanzo's side.

They lay on the bed, tangled, sweaty and spent, breathing one another's air.

"Are you okay?" Goku asked, running his fingers through Sanzo's hair.

Sanzo glared. "What the hell, was that some sort of fucked up therapy?"

"No! Though, yeah, I kinda hoped you'd feel better. But that's not why."

Sanzo believed him, just because there was little to be gained by lying. "What now?" he asked instead.

"Well, for starters you oughta ask to be transferred to another resident."

"No."

"No, seriously. You don't wanna have the sex with your boss thing following you your whole career."

That.

Fuck.

"I was angry," Sanzo said.

Goku looked at him. "It's true."

"What?"

"I'm sure you wondered. It's true that I got into the West Hospital program because I was sleeping with Dr Taishou back in med school."

Sanzo wasn't sure what to say.

"I had average to low grades, but I had clocked a solid ten years of hanging in a morgue and had done something like a couple dozen complete autopsies. I had a friend who had a pathologist dad, and he let us help out. Nataku didn't much care for medicine, but I made good use of the time." Goku looked at Sanzo, willing him to understand. "It was all unofficial, so yeah, Homura got me the job by convincing Kanzeon I was good enough. She had me do a bunch of procedures on cadavers before she agreed, anyway."

It must have sucked, Sanzo concluded.

"Koumyou – my father – sponsored a swimming pool," he said. Goku blinked. "Or something like it, sports hall, a football team, whatever, to get me into Stanford med school."

"You seem bright enough."

"I didn't give a flying fuck throughout pre-med. I took it because Hakkai did, and I just didn't care enough to study."

"You have no trouble now," Goku said, wiggling his hips against Sanzo's. "Except for your abysmal bedside manner, that is."

"I got better."

*****

When Koumyou woke, he hurt. He had a vague image underneath his eyelids, of an argument over his bleeding chest, a debate whether the doctor on duty was good enough for the job, and an adorable girl with braids who pinched his arteries closed and gave him a mask which supplied oxygen. It must have been a dream, though.

"Dad," he heard to his right, the voice that was unmistakably Sanzo, just the right mix of fury and fear to indicate worry. Koumyou looked at him, but his vision registered just a blob of golden blond.

"Good morning," someone said, and Koumyou directed his gaze towards the door. It wasn't easy to focus, but eventually his brain interpreted the colorful blobs as wall and three humans. "Dr Cho?"

Hakkai opened his mouth and let out a stream of long words that might have referred to anything in the world, up to and including the _Teletubbies_ , far as Koumyou was concerned.

"Sir?" asked the cute doctor on the forefront of the group when Hakkai finished.

"Yes?"

"If I may have a word?"

"Certainly."

"Cool. Clear off, everyone," he told the others. "Dr Cho, go home."

Hakkai nodded a quick goodbye and left. He looked horrible.

"Sanzo, you too," the doctor said, and were Koumyou not so week he would have raised an eyebrow. Sanzo?

Sanzo glared and folded his arms. "No."

"Visiting hours are over."

"I work here."

"Your twenty-four hours aren't yet up," Dr Son said, and he was so cute his glare utterly failed its job. "Do not make me throw you out."

Sanzo growled, glared (now his glare was worthy of a championship) and smoldered in the doctor's direction, but left the room.

Koumyou looked at the young man, impressed. "I am glad my accident was such an aphrodisiac," he said, meaning every word. It was only when the good doctor flushed and started stammering apologies, that he considered the words in different light. "Oh. I assure you, I mean that most sincerely. Sanzo is so difficult, it is always good to see someone got through." Dr Son was still flushed, and all the more adorable for it. Koumyou could see what attracted Sanzo. "Do you mind me asking what are your intentions towards my son?"

"For starters I wanna make him a good surgeon," Dr Son said, hugging his clipboard. "It's not going be too hard, but he's not gonna win a patient's choice award, let me tell you."

"Yes, I worry that he won't. But I don't think that's what you wanted to say to me."

"No, not really." Dr Son lost most of the flush. "The news is mostly good – you had glass imbedded in your chest. Post-op x-rays show no shards, your echocardiogram was normal, but I will have another set of tests done in a day or two, just to be sure. Whatever damage the glass did was repaired, though I wouldn't recommend marathons just yet."

"Sounds splendid so far." Koumyou relaxed, as far as the aching everything allowed.

"The news that's not so good, is that I got a look into your arteries and you suffer from atherosclerosis."

"That would be?"

"Your arteries are clogging. It is lucky, in a way, because there isn't much so far. With minor changes to your diet and vitamin supplements you have nothing to worry about."

"Save for drinking while driving, I infer." Next time he thought about discussing anything in a limousine, no one would convince him a minibar was a good idea.

"Well, that's not healthy for anyone," Dr Son said, and grinned. He said his goodbyes and turned to leave the room, running into Sanzo on his way out.

Koumyou watched the way his errant son glared, made rude comments, and was generally a thorn in the poor doctor's side, and smiled to himself with barely contained glee.

"What are you so happy about?" Sanzo asked, closing the door.

"Nothing, nothing." Koumyou sighed happily. There was someone for everyone, he had often heard, but Sanzo's less than amiable disposition had made him wonder sometimes. He was thankful that once more the adage had turned out to be true.

 **The End**


End file.
